Following Orders
by Curdled Soul
Summary: During those long summer months between the 6th and 7th year, we only hear about Snape once, and briefly at that. What happens at Malfoy manor as the Dark Lord sets his plans in motion, and how is he reacting to Draco’s failure to kill Dumbledore?


_Disclaimer: Only the plot and Mipsey are mine, the rest belongs to J. K. Rowling._

_Summary: During those long summer months between the 6__th__ and 7__th__ year, we only hear about Snape once, and briefly at that. What happens at Malfoy manor as the Dark Lord sets his plans in motion, and how is he reacting to Draco's failure to kill Dumbledore?_

Following Orders

Marching past the gates of Malfoy Manor, Snape shot a quick burst of air from his wand. The peacocks in his way were displaced in a flurry of ruffled feathers. As he strode up the hill, their plaintive screeches followed him but they did not attack, having no desire to lose all of their feathers as a result of his more…direct manner of dealing with them.

Lucius had always loved the damn creatures, revelling in the majestic beauty of their pure white feathers, but all Snape saw when he looked at them was a gaggle of overgrown, moving feather dusters. Snape even hated the sound they made as it reminded him of two things he had absolutely no patience for: their shrieks were a cross between a young child's scream and a cat's yowl, both of which grated horribly on his nerves.

One particularly brave young cock trumpeted his call altogether too near for his taste, and Snape's hand twitched and a jet of sparks jumped from his wand to singe the bird's tail. The peacock cried pitifully and raced away, attempting a half-flight in the direction of a distant pond oasis that Narcissa had added to the grounds the year after Draco's birth.

The sudden thought of Draco chilled Snape's blood cold as he recalled the message he had received (and burned immediately after reading.) He could feel the panic he had been holding at bay begin to encroach on his mind once again. He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket to wipe covertly at his brow, telling himself that it was only the heat of the summer sun that was causing him to perspire. He conveniently disregarded the knowledge that cooling charms were an intrinsic part of his robes' design. The plain white of the handkerchief stood out starkly against the gloomy black material of his robes, and he shoved it away almost as soon as he caught sight of the contrast, leaving his brow to glisten with a sheen of sweat.

Snape barely registered the house elf that leapt forward to admit him to the manor, cowering as it did so. His legs were carrying him purposefully through the halls of Malfoy Manor, past closed doors and low murmurs to the library. He had received the owl marked urgent in the early hours of the evening. The vicious bird had swooped down through his Floo and latched onto his shoulder with its sharp talons, waking him rather painfully from his Fire Whiskey-induced stupor. The message it bore had read simply: "Need help. Come to manor. Library. D.M." Although he would never admit it, even to himself, Snape had been thrown into a panic.

Some people burned hot and wild in their panic, but not Severus Snape. No, Snape fell into a cold, still and thoughtful panic that prompted him to action. He had downed a Hangover potion and a Pepper-Up and shoved the bird on its way out the door. With a quick wave of his wand, Snape had Apparated as soon as he stepped outside his wards with a steely determination.

Upon arriving in the Library, Snape scowled at the darkness. The only illumination in the room came from the low fire by the large wingback reading chairs. Snape motioned briskly with his wand, prompting the torches on the walls to spring to life. It was at that moment that he caught sight of his godson.

Draco was slouched inelegantly in the nearest chair, sinking deep into the green leather, his chin resting on his chest. He had lost a lot of weight over the past year at Hogwarts, and yet, free though he was now, he seemed to have made no attempt to regain it. When he looked up wearily to gaze at the man before him, Snape could see that the delicate skin around his eyes was dark and dry. It contrasted brightly with the whites and reds of his bloodshot eyes. The boy looked haunted.

Snape set about constructing an intricate set of privacy wards around them. He examined the young man before him with narrowed eyes, hunting for a trace of the confident and boisterous boy he had known and finding barely a trace. In his place was a pale, worried young man who could barely take a sip from his glass he was shaking so badly.

"I thought you were smarter than this." Snape said scathingly. "And now you've gone and put us both at risk."

"What – what do you mean?" Draco asked.

"You call me here, away from my task for the Dark Lord for an emergency, and I find you like this?" Snape spat, gesturing broadly with one hand. "No blood, no missing limbs, not even a scratch?"

Draco seemed to shrink a bit in his chair.

"You careless – nay – stupid child,' Snape exclaimed, hauling Draco up by his collar to face him. Draco struggled feebly but Snape held him easily under his power. They stood there, nose to nose, Draco struggling half-heartedly to escape his hold.

"I am not a child!" Draco exclaimed, weakly fighting his grasp.

The fire in Snape's eyes intensified and spittle dripped from his lower lip as he stared at the boy with fire in his eyes.

"You are until you start behaving like a man," he returned, voice dangerously quiet.

"I will not always be around to pick up after you." his voice rumbled softly in his chest and Draco lowered his eyes_._ Satisfied that his charge was sufficiently repentant for the moment, Snape loosened his hold on the young man's collar and allowed Draco to fall back into the chair.

"Now," Snape said as he seated himself in the other chair. "Tell me what brought this on."

"My – wand," Draco gulped. "It – it won't respond to me anymore." The words came quietly, as if wrenched from the secret depths of his soul. Snape's eyes widened as he took in Draco's hushed confession.

"Whom else have you told?"

"I – only you."

Draco worried his lip between his teeth and looked up at Snape timidly from under his lashes.

"Sir? – " He hesitated. 'Can you – do…' he trailed off, not daring to put his thoughts in words, lest he overstep his bounds.

Snape reached forward hesitantly to grasp Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, I will do what I can to help you, but you _mustn't _let anyone suspect anything is amiss. This means taking better care of yourself, Draco. I cannot make excuses for you to the Dark Lord for much longer."

Draco's eyes widened in fear and Snape could feel him start to tremble.

"Please, He can't know!" he begged.

Draco's outburst was met with a tense silence.

"No, I do not believe that he does," Snape replied finally, treating Draco's exclamation as a question. "If he did, you would undoubtedly be aware of that singular fact." He surreptitiously flicked his wand to reinforce his wards once more.

"I have – told him, that you were upset over the prospect of not being able to return to Hogwarts to finish your education, and that you fear that you will not be able to serve him as well as you could should this come to pass." Snape pressed his godson back into his seat.

"I'm sorry, sir, I shouldn't have hesitated," Draco began beseechingly. He clutched desperately at the sleeves of Snape's robes. "But Dumbledore, he just kept talking, and – "

"And you botched your mission, leaving me to kill Dumbledore as you stood there, _listening_ to him." Snape interjected. "You're a fool, Draco, and you're lucky to be alive." Draco stared at him, wide-eyed. Snape paused and ran a hand across his face, trying to brush away his fatigue before returning to the original point of their conversation.

"The Dark Lord has bid me convey to you that some alternative for your education would present itself in the near future." Snape announced with a sigh. He paused in his words for a moment to survey the young man before him.

"Draco," Snape said. "You must snap out of this if you want to live. He has already started taking his anger out on Lucius – it is only a small step from taking it out on _you_."

Snape had not thought it was possible for the blond to become any paler, but he saw it happen before his eyes. The flickering light of the fire leeched any colour remaining from the alabaster skin. Draco's frightened grey eyes bored into him.

"I'll find a way." The defiant words came from Draco's mouth as he turned his head away, fighting to regain his composure.

"Your life depends on it, Draco." Snape snarled. The slight young man hunched back in his chair defensively as the harsh words sprung from Snape's mouth harsher than he had intended. His eyes widened with hurt and, damn it, his chin trembled – actually trembled! Snape quickly jumped up and reinforced his wards before reclaiming the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. He glanced at his godson as he took his seat, and Draco flinched as if his gaze had been a whip. Snape sighed and passed a hand over his face, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on.

"Draco," he said, quieter now. "Look at me." Draco blinked, turning his head back slightly.

"I need to see," Snape continued. Draco let out the breath he had been holding and sank back into the depths of the chair, his head dropping to his chest once more.

"Show me," Snape insisted, placing two fingers under the boy's chin to lift his head.

"_Legilimens_." He whispered.

Images flashed by: a feast in the great hall; a younger Draco speaking to his father about proper decorum for a Malfoy; the soft brush of his mother's fingers through his hair. Snape fought to control the flow, to focus in on one memory in particular.

Shadows snapped into place and time itself seemed to slow down. It was dark in the room, and the sound of a child's hastily muffled whimpers could be heard. A small hand reached out from under the bed to grab a toy bear and then a house elf popped in, eyes wide, scolding –

"_Focus_, Draco," Snape's sharp voice broke through, and the image shifted.

Although changed, it was still apparent that it was the same room. The young man before him had aged, and he reclined on the bed rather than under it. He fiddled with his wand and tossed worried glances at the door – the image flickered, and he was under the bed again, the house elf confiscating the stuffed toy – _flicker – _and then he was jumping off the bed and backing hastily towards the window as the door was slamming open to admit his father – _flicker – _the house-elf was dragging the young Draco out from under the bed as he fought against it, in tears– With a wave of his wand Lucius was sending the window shutters crashing into the panes, locking him in and Draco's eyes started darting around frantically – the house-elf was directing a jolt of energy through the boy, causing him to whimper pitifully –

"Draco!" Snape's bark brought the images clearly into focus, seeming to play out on top of one another. Young Draco and the house-elf stood out as faint impressions, ghosts, of the more recent memory of the older Draco and his father. Snape fought to bring the more recent memory into focus, and then suddenly he heard the words.

"—You were supposed to prove yourself worthy, and you failed." Lucius was fidgeting slightly by the closed door, a sure sign that he was beyond irritated. As his voice broke upon uttering his next words, Snape realised that his old friend was most likely terrified.

"Do you understand, Draco?" I cannot protect you anymore, not – not from this." His shoulders slumped forward at an almost imperceptible degree, but enough for his son to notice, causing Draco to leap off his bed and make his way over to his father. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lucius held up a hand to halt his words before they came.

"Son," he began, his sad grey eyes boring into their mirror image. "He will want what he sees as his due. You are in his debt now."

The image flickered.

"Bad Master Draco. Master Draco knows he is not to be hiding, no he isn't." Master Draco must be punished," the house-elf was scolding. Its face could have been etched in stone.

"No, no, I'll be good," the young boy was pleading through terrified sobs as he fought to free his wrist from the elf's grip.

"Please, Mipsey. Please. I'll be good, I promise." The house elf paused on the threshold and turned to the young blond.

"Mipsey is following orders, Master Lucius is commanding it."

The house elf caught the boy as he sagged forward, and manhandled him out of the room.

"Mipsey is being a good house-elf, she is. Mipsey is following her master's orders."

And then with another flicker, the image changed again.

"You are aware that the Dark Lord will be our guest in these coming months, Lucius was in the middle of saying, pretending not to notice how his son paled drastically at his words.

"He wishes to…speak with you, my son," Lucius continued. "Make your way to the main dining room." He turned as if to leave and then paused, one foot already out the door.

"Oh, and Draco," Lucius turned back to look at his son over his shoulder. His eyes traced over Draco's face as if committing it to memory.

"It is unwise to keep the Dark Lord waiting." With those parting words of advice, Lucius stepped out into the hall, his long hair swirling around as he turned his face, and then the world blurring and fading as Snape withdrew from Draco's mind.

He leaned back slowly, maintaining eye contact with his godson. At length, he spoke.

"Why those memories, Draco?"

Draco began to shake and Snape could read the fear in his eyes.

"What if," Draco swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "What if my wand, my _magic,_ is punishing me for breaking my oath of commitment to the Dark Lord?"

Snape sat bolt upright and quickly went through every bit of wand lore that he possessed. Was it possible that Draco's magic had betrayed him? A hazy bit of a memory floated at the back of his mind – a glimpse of a twisted wand flying through the air, a vague pulse of a bonding and then a bright green light flaring and abruptly realization hit. Snape drew in a sharp breath and stared at the wand Draco held in his hands. It was smooth and made of hawthorn – it was not the wand that had flown into Draco's hand in his memory. In that instant, Snape knew that the best help he could give his godson was to do nothing at all. He stared at his godson a moment longer before nodding decisively and standing briskly.

"If the Dark Lord had meant to punish you, you would have felt a magical backlash when he tampered with your connection to your wand. Consider this scare a warning, for while I do not believe the Dark Lord had a hand in it, you cannot be too cautious in such matters." He pushed on before the fool could voice anything more damaging. "Clear your mind and focus on your spells. Let us hope it is only a temporary aberration."

Draco's bewildered eyes followed him and he clutched his wand closer to his chest. He nodded slowly

"Watch your mouth," was Snape's last bit of advice. The unspoken words '_and actions_' echoed in both of their minds. Draco nodded again, trying to inject a measure of life into his expression.

"That will do for now. I expect to see some progress."

Draco opened his mouth to speak but before he could form the words, the doors to the library were banging open, heralding the arrival of one of the _guests_. Snape jerked his head, and dispelled the wards before they could be noticed.

"Where's my ittle bitty nephie-poo?" the woman crooned as she entered. "Drakie wants to come play with his Auntie, doesn't he? Oh yes he does!" She caught sight of them in that moment and grinned maliciously, her hair swarming around her head as if charged with static.

"Oh, and what's this? Does mean old Snapey want to play too?"

"Bella," Snape snarled his greeting. Leery of the predatory looks she kept tossing in Draco's general direction.

"Draco, it is time for you to retire," he informed the boy, his voice low. The boy's grip on his wand tightened, his knuckles going bloodless. He stood, shaking ever so slightly. He made his way to the door, head down, avoiding Bellatrix's gaze. As he passed her, however, her arm shot out and she grabbed him by the wrist.

"Aww, Is little Drakey-wakie up past his beddy-bye?" Bellatrix taunted. "I bet he wants a story."

Draco stared at the hand that restrained him with horror. Her long, claw-like fingernails bit deeply into his skin, and drops of blood welled to the surface of the gouges. A fiery trail of pain crept up his arm and he bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"Bella," came Snape's voice, warning her off. He might as well have been commanding a dog to heel. She turned her head to glare at him with eyes full of hate and madness. A stubborn bitch, more like.

"Snape," she spat. "No one asked you."

"Oh, really?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Then I suggest you be on your way."

Bellatrix threw Draco's arm away from her and turned to face her challenger. With her attention diverted for the moment, Draco scampered away to hide and left Snape to divert her attention from himself. He watched as her face twisted into a hideous mask and covertly cast a proximity warning ward that would alert him to any incoming spells.

Snape barely recognized Bellatrix anymore. She had, in school, been one of the most sought after, with her long dark hair cascading down her back in thick shining waves and her luminescent pale skin. He remembered being fascinated with her habit of colouring her lips a deep red, the only hint of colour in her face. Her eyes had always been cold and dark, but that darkness had since gained depth. Staring into Bellatrix's eyes now was like looking into an abyss and finding it staring right back, as though the madness inside her, too great to be contained, had started to leak out of her and into him. Snape could practically feel his soul being torn and melted away. He pulled his eyes from hers to search the rest of her face as she stepped out of the shadows and into the faint light of the torches, baring her teeth. The flickering light played against them, turning them into jagged shards of ice, ready to sink into his jugular.

Snape was aware of a faint movement out of the corner of his eye – surely Draco wasn't foolish enough to sneak back into the library. Although his brain registered it as a sign of a potential threat, Snape did not dare to remove his eyes from Bellatrix. The woman was practically spitting fire, she was so enraged. He remained silent, watching her for any sign she was about to reach for her wand as she began her verbal attack, her words all blending into one another in a whirlpool of meaningless vitriol.

"Well?" Bellatrix screeched, her voice grating on his eardrums. Snape carefully suppressed a wince and looked her up and down lazily without replying.

"Treacherous scum! Not fit to kiss my Master's robes!" Bellatrix continued, trying to get a rise out of him. Unfortunately for her, Snape knew her games all too well.

Instead or responding with words spoken in anger, or even a curse, he simply sneered, insulting and questioning her with the smallest of glances and turned to leave. It was always a risk to turn one's back on even the lowliest of Death Eaters, and Bella was by no means to be counted amongst the lowest of their ranks. This was a calculated insult. Snape heard an angry hiss like that of a wildcat – his only warning – and threw up a shielding spell as she threw a curse at his back. He turned around in the same moment that the curse and the shield met, his robes swirling about his legs. His wand was raised and ready. Snape tisked, as if scolding an errant pet.

"Bella, Bella, Bella, that was hardly becoming of you," he chided.

She gave an inarticulate scream and seemed prepared to launch herself at him when suddenly a loud rumble like thunder rang out through the room.

The movement from the shadows that Snape had observed earlier parted to reveal the form of their Lord and Snape lowered his wand in the instant his presence registered in his mind. It was tantamount to suicide to consider any other action in the Dark Lord's presence. As one, Snape and Bellatrix fell to their knees, with eyes glued to the floor. The air crackled with the Dark Lord's power, a testament to his displeasure with them.

Snape stared at the floor, desperately trying to clear his mind of the anger Bellatrix inspired in him. Voldemort, while he encouraged such emotions in his followers, was most displeased whey they turned them on each other. Instead, Snape stared at the plush Turkish carpet beneath his knees. It was patterned like a garden maze, abounding with leaves and flowers. His eyes traced a thorny bush, using it as a focus to sharpen his mind on the task at hand. Next to him, Bellatrix fidgeted uncomfortably with the wand she held by her side. Even after all this time out of Azkaban, she still had difficulty training and controlling her magic when her emotions ran high. It made her a liability, and worse yet, everyone knew it, which only increased her unpredictability. The silence stretched on forever, broken only by the cracking of logs on the fire.

"Sssso," the deceptively soft voice of the Dark Lord broke the quiet as he drew out the word like a threat. As he prowled closer to his servants, the small clicks that the heels of his dragon-hide boots on the marble floor not covered by the carpet echoed in the vault-ceiling library.

"Bella," he drawled. Snape could hear her breath coming faster even from the distance between them. He knew that if he were to look up, he would see a rapturous look on her face.

"Why," the Dark Lord continued, "do I find you here, flinging insults and curses at my most loyal servant?"

There was a sharp intake of breath from Bellatrix before she launched into her defence.

"My Lord," she pleaded, "I meant you no disrespect, but this traitor was attempting to corrupt --" She got no further.

"_Crucio_," their master hissed. He watched impassively as Bellatrix writhed on the floor. Snape remained in position stoically, suppressing the urge to move lest he incur the Dark Lord's wrath as well. At last the curse was released and Bellatrix's screams stopped, replaced only with her harsh and ragged panting. With a nudge of his gleaming boot, Lord Voldemort displaced her from the carpet. Without sparing her a second glance, he sat down gracefully on one of the chairs, folding his voluminous robes around him.

"Severus," he turned again, addressing the dark man. "You have proved your loyalty, be easy." Snape suppressed a shiver of delight as the Dark Lord's magic reached out, conveying his pleasure with him. With each wave of power, the pulse of longing within Snape grew sharper. And then Snape was shaking openly as a shiver of pure bliss travelled down his spine when his master lifted his chin so that he could read the approval in his eyes.

"I commend you for your restraint, Severus," he said softly, the words brushing against Snape's cheeks like a welcome breeze.

Snape forced himself to lean into that power, into the dark creature's hand. His fingers were long and delicate, better suited to an artist than a politician. Snape suspected that they would be an asset in potion brewing as well – demanding and precise in their every movement. The Dark Lord's skin was dry and scaly, but somehow smooth at the same time – it was both reptilian and entrancing in its own right.

"I live only to serve you, Master," Snape whispered, knowing that his desire for the power surrounding him shone in his eyes, even as he cursed it. He allowed his desire to bubble up to the surface of his mind, knowing that it would please the man before him.

It did indeed please the scaly man, and he sat back in his chair smiling. A whimper reached their ears from the corner where the heap of flesh named Bellatrix rested. Voldemort sat, tapping his non-existent lower lip with a long tapered finger, clearly thinking. "Severus," he said. "What did Bella interrupt?"

Snape ducked his head in a show of humility. "My Lord," he began. "I was notifying Draco of your esteemed plans for his further education when she walked in." He allowed a memory of Draco's relief at being able to serve the Dark Lord with a better education to seep through to his surface thoughts. No sooner did he free that thought, than the Dark Lord's face stretched into an eerie, reptilian smile that showed altogether too many teeth. Snape quickly lowered his eyes, as if he were overwhelmed with the honour that his Lord paid him, and was further rewarded by a fond pat on the head, "You have done well, Severus, to ensure that the new blood in my army grows strong."

Snape dipped forward to press his forehead to the floor in a sign of respect and risked a glance over at Bellatrix as he rose. Dark, soulless eyes bored into his.

As he straightened, he saw that the exchange had not passed unremarked. The Dark Lord looked on with narrowed his eyes. Snape remained on his knees before him, awaiting further instructions from his master.

"Severus," Lord Voldemort spoke. "I will require several potions from you in this coming month. There is a list in your lab, ready for your attention." His eyes were trained on the heap in the corner.

"I wish to speak with you further, but first," he continued, "I have some business I must take care of." He turned to the man before him.

"You understand, of course."

"Of course, my Lord." Snape spoke to the floor and brushed his lips against the hem of the other's robes.

"I await your pleasure."

"I expect I will be…detained for several hours," Lord Voldemort informed him. Snape nodded, seeing that no reply was expected and bowed as he left the room.

The moment before the door shut a piercing echo of a scream escaped, only to be cut off as the latch slid home with a resounding click that was deafening in the silence that followed.

Snape strode briskly in the direction of the dungeons where his temporary potions lab was housed. The few Death Eaters that he passed pressed themselves against the walls rather than risk gaining his attention. It was well known amongst the ranks that Snape could do no wrong, having Voldemort's full confidence in all things. As the vanquisher of Albus Dumbledore, he had earned that right beyond measure. This latest accomplishment did not even take into consideration the reputation that Snape had cultivated for himself over the last decades.

Snape's cloak rippled and snapped as he twisted around corners. His long legs ate up the distance and he took the stairs three at a time, barely noticing them. His mind felt as though it were swimming in a fog. When he reached the door to his lab, Snape quickly keyed his magical signature into the wards that guarded it and barricaded himself inside.

When he finally felt secure behind all of his wards, Snape allowed himself to fall apart. He sank to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. His self-loathing crept to the surface. He recalled that sensation of being enveloped by the Dark Lord's magic – how it had felt that very first time all those years ago when he had joined the Death Eaters as an angry young man. It was all consuming and seductive. It spoke of a promise of power, of more – always more. It corrupted only the willing, and he had found himself walking down that dark path once before, before he had found the strength to turn away from it and back into the light. And now it called to him again, and he felt the danger as he never had before. The lure of that terrifying outlet of power spoke to him, taunting him with his own weakness, and this time, there was nothing to hold him back from reaching out to grasp it – no one but himself.

Droplets of water formed in the corners of his eyes as he recalled how Lily, and later Albus, had restrained him, guided him on the better path. He stood rooted to the spot as images of his own past flashed before his eyes. They had been so patient, so loving, so persistent in their quest to redeem him, to help him redeem himself.

And now they were gone, and he had to fend for himself. And for Draco. It was worse than the blind leading the blind, because this time Snape knew the addictive power that was being offered to him, and it was taking every ounce of his control not to snap and scoop up what was offered.

With that power within his grasp, he could end it all, but as Dumbledore would doubtless remind him, there was always a choice between the path that was right, and the path that was easy.

Snape could understand what Draco was going through right now, his loss of faith in the Dark Lord, in his own magic. After all, he had experienced it all for himself twenty years before. His denial of the power years before had sapped him of all of his strength and left him broken in the care of the Dementors. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he could feel himself return to that hellish place. The moment that curse had left his wand in a jet of sickly green light, Snape had known that this battle would have to be fought, but he feared more with each coming day that it would be fought only to be lost. Already his Occlumency barriers were beginning to tatter under the pressure of the Dark Lord's constant presence, and it would not be long before the call of the power was wrapped deep in his soul.

Snape could only hope to finish his task before his resolve crumbled beyond saving, before he let himself be consumed by the dark.

It was late at night, possibly even in the early hours of the morning, when Snape, in the midst of stirring a potion, felt the wards around his makeshift lab twinge to alert him to the presence of another. He could feel the Dark Lord's power unfurling behind him as the man entered. Unwilling to halt his stirring, lest the whole potion be ruined, he held up a hand, motioning that he would be but a moment longer, and requesting silence.

As he reached thirty-six in his count, he sprinkled in powdered lacewings, taking care to disperse it over the entire surface of the cauldron, and watched in satisfaction as the liquid within darkened into a dusty rose, with hints of something darker lurking beneath the surface. It was as he had anticipated in his calculations. Ten more stirs, and he brought the ladle to a halt at the center of the cauldron, allowing the liquid to settle before removing it. He checked the potion against his notes once more before placing a stasis spell over it and turning down the flames. Final adjustments made, and his emotionless mask firmly in place, he turned to face his visitor.

While he had waited, the Dark Lord had conjured a comfortable chair to perch on, and had reclined to watch the graceful movements of his servant's brewing. As Severus straightened from his bow, he could see the satisfaction and pleasure written on his Lord's face. It would seem then, that he was in a good mood tonight.

"So elegant," he murmured. "Tell me, Severus, how goes the potion?"

"Well, my lord," Snape replied, perching on a lab stool. "It will be ready for the addition of the fwooper pinfeathers after two hours of stewing, and then there is only the final simmering before it is complete."

"Good…good," Voldemort said, seeming to be more focused on something behind the man than on his words. Suddenly, his gaze sharpened and seemed to pin Snape to his uncomfortable seat.

"Tell me, Severus, what do you see for the future?" The man dwelt on the 's'es, drawing out the syllabant sounds in his delight.

"My lord," Snape relied quickly. "I seek to bring about the same world that you yourself envision – to free us from the Mudblood filth and blood traitors that seek to weaken our world and to bring your faithful followers to glory and their rightful place of power over that rabble." He stood immobile as the words faded from his lips, awaiting his master's approval.

Voldemort paced around the lab, seeming restless.

"Yes, Severus, yes," he said impatiently. "But what of your vision of your own future – what do you foresee for yourself?"

"My lord?" Snape allowed his genuine surprise to seep through his barriers to colour his words and Voldemort's good humour reasserted itself.

"Ah, Severus, always the careful one," he returned his full attention to the dark man standing before him.

"I was referring to the role you had anticipated taking on in these coming months. Tell me," he commanded.

"My lord, I had thought you meant for me to continue my work here." He paused.

"I live only to serve you my lord – you have but to command me, and I will go willingly," Snape responded carefully.

"Yes, yes," Voldemort murmured. "That is good, pet. You please me, Severus." He gestured with his hand and a second chair appeared in the corner he had occupied while Snape had been brewing.

"Join me."

Snape inclined his head in a deep nod and waited for his master to settle himself before crossing the room and assuming the other chair as his own.

The men sat there for several long moments.

"I have a task for you," Voldemort said, breaking the heavy silence. "Do not think to fight me on this," he warned. "For I have made up my mind."

Snape made a murmur of acquiescence, dipping his chin.

"You will return to Hogwarts as Headmaster, come September."

The pronouncement sent jolts through Snape's mind. His head shot up, and he stared at his master in disbelief.

"My lord...how?"

Lord Voldemort relaxed into the firm leather padding of the conjured chair, his countenance bespeaking nothing but pure satisfaction.

"Ah, my servant, do you doubt me?" A small light of panic crept unbidden into Snape's eyes, quickly banished with an abrupt shake of his head, hair whipping about his face.

"No, I see that you do not," Voldemort smiled. "Be easy, pet."

Snape fought back an impatient fidget, squashing his questions before they could form.

"The Ministry will fall within the month," Voldemort announced. "And with it, Hogwarts." He paused as if expecting Snape to protest before adding. "You _will_ do this for me, Severus."

"Of course, master," Snape replied, his voice emotionless. "You honour me." He bowed low in his chair.

"Ah, my pet," Voldemort snorted in amusement. "Such control." The smile in his voice fought against his nasally tones. Snape allowed his lips to twitch faintly. It was response enough.

Voldemort stood, dismissing the chair he had conjured.

"Let me know when the potion is ready," he said before gliding out the door, leaving Snape to his potions.

Snape sat in silence, his chin propped in his hand. His mind was whirling, and he knew that no matter the outcome of the war, he for him, it would be the same. For so much to happen in just one day…

Only a day ago, Snape might have had hope. Now, he had nothing more than shattered dreams. He shuddered. No penance, it seemed, would ever be enough.

The lights flickered and a shrill ping sounded throughout the lab. Snape stood and dispense with the conjured chair. After disarming the magical timer, he reinforced his wards with a pointed jab of his wand, feeling a tickle of the Dark Lord's monitoring wards attach itself to him. With a heavy sigh, he made his way over to his lab bench to begin trimming fwopper feathers.

It seemed that nothing would ever be enough.

**The End.**

**A/N:** Just a quick note about the history or this project, which may interest some of you. This is a portion of my honours project for my undergrad degree. I was lucky enough to find some profs who were all for it and were a ton of help along the way. I wasn't sure as to whether I was going to post it online but then my examiner and my supervisor helped out a lot there by pointing out that it was actually a logical extension of the project to do so. So please, leave a review and tell me what you think, or, if you're curious about the project, let me know and I can fill you in a bit. Thanks for reading!


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